


Talking Flowers

by nirejseki, robininthelabyrinth (nirejseki)



Series: Flashwave Week 2018 (Destiny Series) [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Destiny of the Endless - Freeform, Flower Language, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Sort Of, references to autism spectrum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 00:43:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14965397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/robininthelabyrinth
Summary: When Barry is young and impulsive, he gets a tattoo that turns out to be a hell of a lot more than he's expecting, and a future that's very different than it might have otherwise have been.Now he just needs something to explain to him what all these flowers mean...(For Flashwave Week 2018: Flower Shop/Tattoo Shop AU)





	Talking Flowers

"I've never done anything like this before," Barry confesses. "Not just, you know, a tattoo, but, like, spontaneous! I was just walking through the mall looking for some new shirts – looking for something to do, really – and I saw this place and, well, I just figured, you know, why not? So it’s totally spontaneous. On a whim, really - well, kinda a whim. More like a dare. Kinda, sort of an implied dare, actually, since she never actually said it was a dare, but anyway it's practically the same thing, you know?"

"Sure," the tattoo artist says agreeably. He's smiling, and his eyes are very blue. Inhumanly blue, with glowing curls of blue swirling right over where the pupil should be. Barry supposes that they must be some sort of newfangled special effects costume lens - he's the first person to admit that he's not exactly 'up' on what's cool nowadays.

As Iris would say, he’s too much of a dweeb to be cool.

They _are_ pretty cool, though. 

The tattoo artist is pretty cool all over, actually, head to toe in black topped with a blue parka trimmed with white fuzz, which Barry thinks should look dorky but actually looks pretty cool, maybe because the guy wearing it is just so casually confident about it. The guy even has a chain on his wrist, trailing back into the backpack he’s wearing, which is just _awesome_. 

He’s clearly so much cooler than Barry will _ever_ be.

"I'm legal, though," Barry adds, in case his blathering had put the tattoo artist off. "Totally legal. I can show you my ID -"

"It's okay," the tattoo artist says reassuringly. "I believe you."

"Oh, okay," Barry - who is actually a month shy of his eighteenth birthday but who had a _great_ cover story lined up if necessary - says. He's only mildly disappointed he won't be able to use it. "Good, great. Iris is going to _freak out_ when I show her. She says I'm too much of a conformist to ever break any of Joe's rules - I think she's in, like, a bad boy phase or something? I don't know. She's the love of my life and she thinks I'm a _conformist_. I mean, that sucks! That really sucks. Ugh, I'm never going to get anywhere with her. I'm never even going to get up the courage to _confess_ to her. It's hopeless."

"Nothing's ever hopeless," the tattoo artist says.

"I mean, I guess," Barry says with a sigh. "I just wish I had a way to know what people were thinking. You know? I'm just saying. I mean, I don't need a neon sign spelling it out or anything. I'd be satisfied with a _hint_."

"Seems reasonable," the tattoo artist agrees. "Not good with social cues?"

"No, not at all. I think I might actually be on the autism spectrum - I mean, Joe never took me for tests or anything, so I'm kinda self-diagnosed, but I match up with a bunch of the descriptors - uh, not that you care, of course -"

"Buddy of mine has severe anxiety," the tattoo artist says. "Also not officially diagnosed. It's cool."

And then, for some reason, he smirks a little, as if he'd just made a joke only he understood.

"You're done, by the way," he adds.

"I am?" Barry asks, surprised. "Wow, that was quick - _really_ quick – wait. Did we even discuss what design I'd be getting?"

He was pretty sure he'd just sat down a few minutes ago and given the guy his arm to show him approximately where he wanted the tattoo – the inside of his left arm, just under the elbow, so he could hide it with long-sleeved shirts if he needed to - and then he remembers babbling aimlessly the way he sometimes did, and now, apparently they were done.

No, now that he thinks about it, he hadn’t even _decided_ what he was going to get – something to honor his mother, he’d been thinking, but he hadn’t been exactly sure of what and had been hoping to discuss it with the artist. But he hadn't even gotten around to mentioning his mother yet! 

"Wait," he says again, increasingly alarmed as he looks down at his arm, which is covered in a bandage. He has no idea what’s under there. Wasn’t the process supposed to hurt? Or at least take more time to do? Wasn’t there – outlining and sketching and coloring, or something? "Hold up a second -"

"It's just what you asked for," the tattoo artist says briskly. "Come pay."

Before Barry entirely knows what's happened, he's settled up and out the door.

With absolutely no idea what’s on his arm.

It could be anything: dirty words, some awful symbol, naked people…!

Oh, man, oh, man, Joe is going to _kill_ him.

This is why Barry doesn’t break the rules…!

(Well, except to run off to find out things about his dad, but he's been breaking those rules for so long it doesn't even count.)

He hurries home, hiding in the bathroom and peeling off the bandage to find…

A flower?

Several flowers, actually, wrapped together: a pretty flower with white petals, tinted with pink and with a yellow center, right next to a long stalk with green leaf-like flowers, a green herb with multi-part leaves, and a single four-leaf clover. They’re all colored in quite vividly, with a stark black outline.

It’s…not bad, actually.

Pretty.

Not necessarily what Barry would have picked – ‘just what he asked for’, he has no idea where the tattoo artist got _that_ from – but quite nice. Nothing to be ashamed of.

He could even pretend he’d intended to do it on purpose. No one need ever know.

Barry sighs and pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of it – it’s surprisingly not red or puffy, which speaks to the skill of the artist, at least, though obviously he’s still going to follow all the post-care instructions – and putting it aside to send to Iris later. 

Ugh, Iris. At least the tattoo artist didn’t put an iris on there; Barry would _never_ be able to live that down.

“Barry!”

It’s Joe.

_Crap_.

Barry doesn’t have a long-sleeved shirt, and even if Joe doesn't kill him, Iris _will_ if Joe finds out first.

He pokes his head out of his room, careful to keep the tattoo hidden. “Hi, Joe!” he says, pasting on a smile. “What’s up?”

Joe is frowning at him. “You’re home late,” he says. “You didn’t go visit your dad again, did you?”

“What? No!” Barry says. “I went to the mall.”

“Good,” Joe says. “You know I don’t want you going to Iron Heights.”

“I’m almost eighteen,” Barry reminds him, his temper suddenly short. “You won’t control what I do after that.”

Joe scowls. “It’s for your own good –”

“He’s my _dad_ –”

“He _murdered_ –”

“He didn’t! He’s innocent! How many times do I have to tell you -”

“I’m not getting into this with you again,” Joe snaps. “Just – stay in your room, all right? I’m going out; there’s a crime scene I need to get to.”

“Fine! I wasn’t planning on going out again anyway!”

“Good. I’ve left dinner downstairs; tell Iris to stop sulking in her room and come out to get some.”

Iris is away at a party, as Barry is very well aware and Joe is not, but his inclination to tell Joe that right now is exactly zero. 

In fact, Barry responds by slamming the door in Joe’s face and turning away with a huff.

He hates how Joe condescends to him sometimes. _Especially_ about his dad! It's like he'd be happiest if Barry just, what, magically forgot that his dad even existed or something...

At least Joe didn’t find out about the tattoo...

Barry glances at it briefly, then stops and does a double-take. When that doesn't change what he's seeing, he just -

Stares.

The tattoo is...different.

The _flowers_ are different!

Instead of what it was before, mostly white and green, now it's a spring of tiny bright pink flowers, a burst of extremely tiny yellow flowers (oddly enough, those were upside-down), a white flower with a big yellow inside, and a few delicate little white blossoms shaped like bells. Again, all twined together in a beautiful and artistic way, vividly colored, but more like one of those watercolor style tattoos rather than the typical black outline.

But _definitely_ not the same as it was before.

What the hell?

What the –

_“I just wish I had a way to know what people were thinking…satisfied with a hint…”_

That’s what Barry’d asked for, hadn’t he? That was the _only_ thing he’d asked for.

But that’s – that’s impossible, surely? 

As impossible as a tattoo changing.

Besides, even if it _was_ in response to his request, it didn’t make any sense! How could this be what he’d asked for? How could this be a hint –

Flowers.

Flowers weren't just flowers, not always; they also sometimes meant things, didn’t they? Messages, in old Victorian times – a secret language, conveyed by flowers. 

Iris had been really into it for a few months a few years back, Barry remembers, before she’d gotten bored with it. But before she’d gotten bored, she’d gotten a little book of flower meanings with accompanying pictures.

It's probably still in her room.

Barry gets it off her shelf and pulls it open, his left arm splayed out in front of him to make sure the tattoo didn’t change.

The spring of tiny bright pink flowers, those were...chestnut flowers. They represented the pursuit of justice. 

The burst of yellow flowers, that was a mimosa blossom, signifying sensitivity – except when it was upside down, as this one was, when it signified _in_ sensitivity. 

The white flower with the yellow inside was a Christmas rose. It represented anxiety.

And the bell-like white flowers...

Ladies’ smock, they were called. Cardamime.

_Paternal error._

Put all of those flowers together, and you got a message saying...

“Joe’s worried about my going after my dad and he’s being a dick about it,” Barry translates, his eyes wide. “And he’s - he's _wrong_.”

He stares at his hand.

Impossible.

And yet...

He pulls out his phone and pulls up the picture he’d snapped earlier. 

His original tattoo – according to the book, that’d been a spring of apple blossoms, a stalk of a flower called ‘the bells of Ireland’, wormwood, and a four-leaf clover.

All of which signified ‘good luck’, or ‘good fortune’, or ‘safe travels.’

_Good luck and have fun with your new tattoo._

Barry grabs his coat and runs downstairs.

Joe’s still there, all the worst luck. He’s lingering by the door, looking a little guilty – probably about his fight with Barry. “Bar,” he starts. "I just wanted to say -"

“Not now!” Barry shouts as he runs past him. 

“Barry!”

“Forgot something at the mall! Be back soon!”

“Barry Allen, you get back here _this instant_ –”

Barry’s already gone, running full tilt towards the bus station down the block where the bus is just pulling away; he’s able to jump on through the back door just in time, pushing his way forward to pay the conductor.

When he gets back to the mall, though, less than fifteen minutes before closing time, the tattoo artist isn’t there anymore.

Neither is the tattoo parlor, for that matter.

It’s a flower shop.

And according to the mall directory, it’s _always been_ a flower shop.

“So cool,” Barry whispers. “ _So cool_.”

This is _totally_ going on his blog.

* * *

Barry does post about it on his blog, albeit in vague "I knew a guy" terms in the extremely unlikely event that his readers' paranoia about The Government spying on them is correct, but he actually ends up telling far fewer people than he originally thought he would.

He tries to approach the subject obliquely with Iris, talking about people with special abilities and such like that, but she thinks he's talking about his blog and ends up claiming that anyone who has the power to read other people's emotions-slash-intentions is probably kind of weird.

(Barry thinks about his never-really-discussed maybe-diagnosis and wonders if Iris' definition means that all neurotypical people are the weird ones, at least in comparison to those of them who had difficulty with it.)

Long story short, Barry chickens out of telling her about the magic - he doesn't want her thinking he's even weirder than he already is, after all, he still has hope of winning her affection one day in the distant future - and she only sort of finds out about the tattoo itself.

Only sort of, because it takes on the same formulation every single time he's in Iris' vicinity.

An iris with a ribbon tied to the right intertwined with a daffodil with a ribbon tied to left.

"Ooooh, I get it, this is you and me!" Iris exclaims upon first seeing it, beaming wildly. "I’m the iris, of course, and you’re the – what type of flower is that? That’s a daffodil, right? Bright and cheery, just like you are. Really, Barry, you shouldn't have, but it’s totally awesome. Best friendship tattoo ever!"

Barry smiles weakly.

According to all the books he's found, a daffodil says "I wish you would love me" in the language of unrequited love while an iris means "thank you for your friendship" in the language of platonic affection, and just in case he hadn't gotten which was which, the ribbons make it very clear which of them is which even if you ignored the extremely obvious symbolism of Iris' name. 

In other words: ouch.

Besides that particular disappointment, it's not like Barry has many other friends to show it to. Everyone at school already thinks he's, well, weird.

There’s Joe, of course, but Joe would probably just freak out about yet another thing in Barry's life he couldn't control. The man meant well, but seriously, he needs to figure out that he can't manage everything for Barry and Iris all their lives.

Honestly, sometimes Barry thinks Joe is only sympathetic to his crush on Iris because he thinks of Barry as a safer option that he's sure of in comparison to the shadowy outline of some future man that would otherwise be Iris' boyfriend/fiancé/husband. 

Sometimes Barry really wishes Joe had a son of his own to displace all of his intensity onto. Then he promptly feels bad for thinking that.

Either way, for one reason or another, Barry doesn't really tell people about it. 

It ends up being super useful, though.

It can tell him when a teacher is pleased with him (fennel) or angry (firze) or just confused (sainfoin). It warns him when someone is just trying to use him to do all the work in a group project (larkspur for fickleness) or when someone is just too depressed to contribute (willow for sadness). It lets him know if he’s nearly forgotten his mother’s birthday (moss and butterfly weed, meaning maternal love and absence) and reminds him when he's lied to someone (orange mock, signifying deceit, wrapped around peony, the flower of shame, and the evening primrose of inconsistency). 

It even helpfully pops up an oleander wrapped around a germanium (caution and stupidity, respectively) to warn him whenever Tony Woodward is looking for someone to shove into a locker. 

(That particular combination makes Barry grin every time he sees it, even if it's probably a bit mean.)

Best of all, though, is the time he goes to visit his dad.

He doesn’t even think about the tattoo the entire visit – too worried about how his dad’s doing, focusing on checking in on him and reassuring him that he loves him and believes in him – but he remembers when he’s heading back out and pulls it out to see what it has to say about his dad.

Black-eyed susans wrapped in buckthorn, a wallflower, and an upside down saltceder.

Justice, wrapped in difficulty; faithfulness in adversity; and the opposite of guilt.

_Innocent_.

Barry doesn’t know if his tattoo reflects the objective truth or just what he thinks, but his throat gets tight with gratitude either way. It's nice to have someone - or something - that affirms him in what he's doing; sometimes it feels like he's the only person in the world who even cares about righting this wrong. 

Even once Barry’s through with school – high school, college, even grad school via the accelerated criminal justice program he took – and started to work at the CCPD as a CSI, the tattoo continues to come in handy.

Not just for the obviously aspects – as useful as it is to glance down at his arm and occasionally see the saltcedar that signifies ‘guilt’ after an interview with a prime suspect, it’s not exactly admissible in court – but for the way it helps him analyze crime scenes themselves. A crime scene that sees a bunch of marigolds on his arm, standing for jealousy, should be analyzed in a very different way than one that includes flowers like the orange lily (hatred) or lobelia (malevolence). 

The meanings aren’t always that straightforward, of course, and sometimes the flowers that bloom on Barry’s arm don’t appear in any of the few dozen flower dictionaries Barry’s collected and uploaded to his phone in a searchable index. 

Other times, the problem is with his interpretation – he once spent three hours puzzling over the appearance of foxglove on his arm after one particular crime scene, given that foxglove represents insincerity and there didn’t seem to be any insincerity in the case of the woman who’d died, only to abruptly realize that it was a case of _digitalis poisoning_ and the tattoo was being literal for once.

Still, Barry loves his tattoo. It is, despite his first impression, everything he could have asked for and more: his own secret little cheat code to the world.

Honestly, half the reason he didn’t turn Oliver in for being the Hood was because his tattoo picked sweet william, amaryllis, hosta leaves, and sage for Oliver, and Barry’s learned to trust his tattoo by now, even if he wouldn’t necessarily have picked gallantry, pride, devotion, and wisdom as the words to describe Oliver. 

(Maybe it was partially describing Felicity. Barry could see that.)

After the whole thing with Oliver, he gets back to Central later than he hoped that evening in December, sighing when he realizes that the Particle Accelerator was supposed to turn on that very night and he’d undoubtedly missed his chance to get in line for it. 

Oh, well. At least he can sneak into his lab at the CCPD without anyone noticing to finish up those reports he was supposed to be working on during the time he’d run off to Starling to investigate...

His arm gives a sudden twinge of pain, right where the tattoo is.

Barry flinches, then rolls up his sleeve to see what’s happened. He’s learned to notice a small itching sensation when it changes but it’s never done anything like this, sharp and sudden.

The tattoo –

It’s huge.

It changes size sometimes, yes, but not like this: it’s stretching from just below his wrist all the way up to the middle of his upper arm now, and it’s covered in…

White rhododendron, white asphodel, and - _white lilies_? 

Barry frowns at the tattoo as he reaches for the chain to pull open the skylight above his lab.

He’s alone in his lab, after all.

Why would his tattoo be warning him of _danger_ , of _death_ , and of - of all unlikely things - _resurrection_?

Just as he’s thinking that, there’s a great big sound like an explosion.

Lightning strikes.

* * *

Being the Flash is - awesome.

Just - awesome. Barry doesn't have words for how awesome it is; it's every birthday and Christmas rolled up together with a solid helping of every comic book or fantasy novel Barry has ever read, except real and therefore _even more_ awesome.

He even has brand new friends to back him up.

There's really only one problem.

Harrison Wells. 

Well, no, that's not true. That's not the problem. 

The problem is that Barry's tattoo - which was apparently fixed in the shape of a small white lily the entire time he was comatose - has decided that it doesn't like Harrison Wells, despite the fact that as far as Barry knows, the man's never said or done anything even remotely questionable.

Other than the Particle Accelerator thing.

But no, the tattoo is extremely clear when it comes to Barry's new friends. Cisco is an alstroemeria (devoted friendship but also aspiration, a perfect combination for Cisco), while Caitlin is white acacia (meaning both elegance and friendship), and both of them appear with a blue periwinkle signifying that Barry's interactions with them are the start of a beautiful friendship. Dr. Wells, on the other hand, is, well...

Dr. Wells is a bouquet of marigolds, lobelias, Queen Anne’s lace, nightshade and monkshood tied with a left-bound ribbon.

Meaning, respectively: cruelty or jealousy, malevolence and arrogance, someone's return, dark thoughts, and that the person holding the flowers (here, Barry) should, quote, “beware, a deadly foe is near.”

...yeah.

Not exactly...promising.

Honestly, the only flower in the bunch that isn’t actively screaming “this person is evil” is the Queen Anne’s lace, which signifies someone returning, but that makes no sense at all no matter how long Barry puzzles over it.

The rest of the bouquet, on the other hand, is perfectly clear.

At first Barry tries purposefully to interpret it as Wells being _under_ some sort of dire threat, maybe from an angry meta, but the next time he's alone with Wells the tattoo ties a right-side ribbon on the whole bouquet almost as an admonition. 

A right-side ribbon means that the message in the flowers refers to the person to whom the flowers are addressed, which here would be Wells.

So even the charitable interpretation is out.

It basically boils down to a question of trust: does Barry trust Wells, who in all of Barry's interactions with him has done nothing but help him and continues to help him without any apparent expectation of reward, or does he trust his mysterious magic tattoo, which has never been wrong once in the entire time Barry has had it?

Yeah. 

So clearly Harrison Wells is evil.

And Barry's working with him anyway because he really wants to be a hero, and without STAR Labs he's out of luck and he knows it.

Ugh.

If only he could have STAR Labs without Wells.

Unfortunately, without letting people in on the tattoo thing - which he's not going to because, face it, people will believe in superheroes caused by a science experiment gone horribly wrong a hell of a lot faster than they'll believe in a magic information-sharing tattoo from a flower shop that was for a brief instant in time a tattoo shop - Barry has no way to convince anyone of the whole evil-Wells thing.

Cisco and Caitlin are great, but they've known Wells a lot longer than they've known Barry, and Barry's pretty sure you don't stick by someone whose name is employment poison without some serious devotion going on.

Joe...has never believed Barry without proof. Ever. Barry doubts he's going to start now. 

Iris doesn't even know about the whole Flash thing because Joe made Barry swear not to tell her.

Felicity is too busy with some horrible life-threatening stuff going on in Starling to even take Barry's calls.

And...well.

Barry basically doesn't have any other friends.

So he's out of luck.

Or at least, he's out of luck until he stops a robbery on a moving truck and gets a quick glimpse of the face of the would-be thief in question.

Thief, hah!

More like _mysterious magic tattoo artist_!

Okay, he doesn't have the same eyes - the thief, Leonard Snart, has normal blue eyes, or at least he does in the mugshot that Joe finds for Barry - but yeah right, like Barry is going to forget the face of the man who changed his life and showed him that magic is real.

Admittedly, it helped that Snart is tall and well-built. A bit too pretty for Barry - his taste in men runs more towards the big and muscular, because Barry maybe-kinda-sorta likes being tossed around and when you're 6'2" that's a hell of an ask even if you are somewhat skinny - but still, he'd been _very_ memorable during their brief previous encounter. 

Barry is determined to talk to him. Maybe even get some advice on this whole Wells situation.

Now all Barry needs to do is find him.

(Barry's tattoo is a burst of bronze chrysanthemums and forsythia, which mean excitement and anticipation, and Barry couldn't agree more.)

His first attempt doesn't exactly go well - somehow Snart got a super-weapon that blasts out cold, and he isn't exactly receptive to Barry's attempts to communicate, even if Wells butting in at an inconvenient time reminds Barry about the fact that his suit is bugged and he shouldn't have any conversations about Wells without taking certain precautions first.

So the next time they get a read on Snart's status, he makes up a fight with the guys at STAR Labs - not hard, since apparently Cisco made the weapon and Wells seems to be more worried about it being effective against Barry than he is about the risk it poses to other innocent people - as an excuse to shut off all communications on the suit.

He even takes the split-second necessary to search the suit for extra devices they might have "accidentally" forgotten to mention.

( _Beware, a foe is near._ )

And then he runs to find Leonard Snart.

The guy is even wearing the same parka he was wearing the day he did Barry's tattoo.

Barry grins.

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" Snart teases.

"You know perfectly well that I'm legal," Barry shoots back. "Or you would, if you'd bothered to check my ID."

That gives Snart pause. Not the quip he'd been expecting, clearly. "Come again?"

"It was years ago," Barry says. "I don't expect you to remember - I was the guy with the flowers?"

Snart's eyebrows start going up. "Is this a joke?" he asks. "Or some sort of absurdist attempt to get me off balance?"

"This really isn't the best place to talk," Barry says apologetically. 

Snart's smart enough to get his gun back up - apparently absurdism does actually work to get him off balance - but not quite fast enough to stop Barry from charging him, grabbing him, and running him off the train.

He does try to shoot Barry with the cold gun once they arrive, but Barry is sort of expecting that, so he ducks and dodges until Snart stops firing.

"- and also, what the fuck is this place," Snart says a minute or two later to the empty warehouse Barry's brought them to. "Tell me this ain't your HQ, kid."

"It isn't," Barry says. "STAR Labs is."

An eyebrow goes up.

"Yes, I know, it's where you got your gun," Barry says. "Listen, I need your help."

"My _help_?"

Barry rolls up his sleeve to check the tattoo - fascination, faithfulness, strength, all good signs, promising signs, this guy's going to be great - and grins at the guy. "Yeah, your help," he says. "According to your tattoo, Harrison Wells is super evil and needs to be taken down, and I can't do it on my own. And then you show up, so it's clearly a sign we should work together."

"According to _my_ tattoo? Kid, I don't have any tats."

"Really? Isn't that unusual for a tattoo artist?"

"I'm Jewish," Snart says, sounding utterly bemused. "I've never really gone in for tats - even if you put aside the religious objection, I never really found anything I wanted permanent -"

"Well, you clearly solved that problem for me -"

"- and while I certainly know how to apply 'em, I've never worked as a tattoo artist. You sure you haven't gotten me confused with someone else?"

"Positive."

Snart crosses his arms, scowling. "I'm going to need you to explain what you mean by that, then," he says. "And while you're at it, explain why your tat suddenly has spikey red flowers on it when it didn't two minutes ago."

Snart's not the first person the tattoo has changed in front of, but he's the first one to ever notice.

Besides, the spikey red flowers Snart's describing? 

_Camellia japonica_.

In flower language, that means _destiny_. 

Yep, Barry's _totally_ made the right decision here.

He explains.

He gets about halfway through the explanation when his tattoo pings another change, this time a snarl of white clover around Ciscos’ signature alstroemeria, Caitlin’s white acacia, and Wells’ monkshood.

“What’s that?” Snart asks.

“White clover,” Barry says. “It means ‘think of me’, while the other flowers represent my team back at STAR Labs.”

“They’re looking for you,” Snart interprets. 

“I’ll go tell them I lost you,” Barry decides. “I’ll be back in an hour – will you still be here?”

“Are you joking?” Snart asks. “Of _course_ I’ll still be here. Got another half of the story to go.”

It actually ends up taking Barry a good three hours – mostly of Wells and Joe teaming up to lecture him, which, _ugh_. Last he checked, he’s a fully grown adult capable of making decisions on his own, but you’d never guess it from the way they talk to him. 

Barry doesn’t need his tattoo to sarcastically turn into two overbearing cardamimes, but he appreciates it anyway.

(It occurs to him, even based on his limited experience with the guy, that his tattoo seems to have Snart’s sense of humor.)

Luckily, despite the delay, it turns out Snart is, in fact, still waiting back at the warehouse when Barry finally gets there after loudly pretending to want to go back to his apartment to sleep (and forgiving Cisco, who was really taking their fight very hard, which Barry hadn't intended).

“Tell me the rest,” Snart demands.

(The pink bouvardia on Barry’s arm – enthusiasm – is entirely unnecessary commentary.)

Snart ends up denying being the tattoo artist, or at least not remembering it – they split on whether or not it’s some sort of fairy creature taking his face, a version of Snart from the future, or an alternative universe version of him – but he’s delighted to be involved in working to take down Wells, particularly when it turns out that Barry’s tattoo has assigned him the camellia of destiny as “his” flower.

They’re just starting to make plans about how to start working together to take down Wells when the door bursts open.

They both spin.

The man who enters is big and tall and muscular, his head shaven and his eyes narrowed, a gun in his hand. “I don’t know who you are,” he snarls, “but you’d better not have hurt – Snart!”

“Mick!” Snart exclaims.

Barry glances back at Snart, eyes darting down to his tattoo – snowdrops (troubled friendship), asphodels (regret), and forget-me-nots (memories and missing you).

This guy must be an estranged friend of Snart’s.

“I thought you were in trouble,” the man at the door says hesitantly.

“I - I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” Snart says, also hesitant, which Barry already knows is uncharacteristic for him.

“I thought you didn’t want to see _me_ again,” the man says. “After I screwed up that last job –”

“You got _hurt_ ,” Snart says. “It was my plan. I thought –”

“Of course you did,” the man huffs and crosses his arms. “I don’t blame you for it. And anyway, you really thought I wouldn’t come after you if I heard you’d been disappeared by the Streak?”

“Well –”

“Idiot.”

The tattoo is now showing a cheerful burst of freesia (lasting friendship), lavender (devotion), and hazel (reconciliation). 

Barry smiles down at his arm.

Best friends reunited.

“- going to help him fight this bad guy,” Snart is explaining. “You in?”

The man (Mick, Barry thinks Snart called him?) grunts in amusement. “’course I’m in,” he says. “Someone’s got to keep your stupid ass out of trouble.”

And then the man turns to Barry for the first time that evening and smiles, a crooked little smile that didn’t hide how warm his eyes are and suddenly for the first time Barry notices how tall the guy is – as tall as Barry – and how big, how the burns peeking out through his clothing suggested wildness but how the careful way he holds himself suggested control and power. “Hey there, Red,” he says. “I’m Mick. Guess we’ll be working together now.”

Barry swallows and glances down at his arm.

A lavender rose.

_Love at first sight_.

Oh, _crap_.

* * *

Barry is starting to think that Snart’s flower is mislabeled.

He’s not destiny, he’s…

There really needs to be a flower for “chatterbox”. 

(His arm suggests camellia against a background of rhubarb leaves, which mean a brouhaha. That sounds about right.)

“I’m amazed he ain’t a chaste bush,” Mick rumbles in Barry’s ear, causing Barry to shiver at the unexpected closeness and the puff of hot air on his cheek. “Len, I mean.”

“On my tattoo?” Barry squeaks, then coughs to clear his throat. “Why would he be a bush?”

“A chaste bush,” Mick corrects. “Sometimes called vitex or monk’s pepper.”

Barry blinks at him.

“Grew up on a farm, had sisters,” Mick explains. “I know a bit of flower language.” He grins, a little sheepishly. “Wish I had something like your tattoo to explain stuff to me back then. I’m better with people now – still shit at figuring out social cues, s’got something to do with my anxiety, or maybe my autism spectrum diagnosis, but either way, I’ve got a decent grasp of people by now, I think.”

“Yeah, the tattoo is extremely helpful and everyone ought to have one,” Barry agrees fervently. Ever since getting it, he's been unable to imagine trying to live life without it. They ought to come standard on all human models. “It’d reduce misunderstandings _so much_. So, a chaste bush…?”

“Means ‘cold’.”

Barry can’t help but grin. “I could see why you might think that,” he agrees. Snart – who insists on Barry calling him ‘Len’ now that they’re working together, apparently because the thought of magic seems to have turned Snart, no, turned _Len_ into an excitable fourteen-year-old boy again and it seems more appropriate that way – has made at least six cold puns in the last fifteen minutes, each one followed by smirking proudly about them. 

“Plus it’s an extra pun because he’s ace,” Mick says. “Chaste, get it? He doesn't do any of it. No romance, no sex, nothing like that.” He pauses. “In case that was a concern you were having.”

Barry frowns at him, puzzled. Why would he..? “Oh!” he says, realizing and turning red. “No, I’m not – he’s – er – not my type.”

“Really?” Mick asks, arching his eyebrows. “He’s usually everyone’s type. Pretty, you know.”

“Too pretty,” Barry says, then groans and covers his mouth with his hands. “Forget I said that.”

Mick’s smiling, though. “You like ‘em bigger?”

“Can we please change the subject?” Barry begs. “To anything. Ever. Really.”

Mick laughs. 

It’s good laugh. Warm and real, without reservations or shyness. 

“Well,” Mick says, “if we know what flower Len ought to be –”

“Have we decided that?” Barry asks, grateful for the reprieve. He’s pretty sure Mick hasn’t figured out his crush yet, which in his view is all for the better. He needs some time to plan this out – he hasn’t crushed this hard since, well, he met Iris. “He could be something that stands for ‘coldheartedness’.”

“Coldheartedness,” Mick says skeptically. “Like…lettuce.”

Len is still chattering away to himself about his plans, hands painting invisible illustrations in the air.

“Not lettuce,” Barry agrees. “Chaste bush it is.”

“Agreed. So what am I?”

_A purple rose, that’s what_ , Barry thinks, slightly panicky, but then it occurs to him that that’s not necessarily true; the lavender rose had a left-side ribbon, indicating that it only spoke for Barry. That meant that Mick’s flower (or flowers) could be something else.

“- can we check?” Mick is asking, nodding at Barry’s arms. “Since you’ve been talking to me and all. Is that how it works?”

“Sometimes,” Barry hedges, but he can’t think of any good reason not to show Mick his arm other than the possibility of dying on the spot with embarrassment. But not showing him his arm would mean explaining which, again, death of embarrassment, except no possibility the tattoo is taking pity on him and showing something a bit less obvious. “Uh, sure, I guess.”

He pushes up his sleeve. The tattoo has a stalk from a barberry bush on a bed of ivy, with a small delicate umbrella-shaped flower, barely out of the bud, nestled right beside it.

“Barberry,” Mick muses. “That’s – hot-tempered, right? Got that one right. I’m an arsonist, you know.”

“Ivy’s fidelity,” Barry offers as a counterpoint. He knows that’s right, too, just based on Mick’s loyalty to Len.

“What’s this last one?” Mick asks, flushing a bit, but smiling. “Not sure I recognize it.”

“Oh, that,” Barry says. “It also relates to fire, I think – something about flame.”

Mick nods, satisfied, then looks away when Len calls his name with a small measure of irritation that suggests that he may have noticed that they aren’t paying attention to him.

Barry, though, takes a moment to trace the soft outline of that last flower.

It’s rare: a flower with no petals, but rather with a colored calyx that strongly resembles petals, growing primarily in tropical South America. Barry only knows about it because he’s spent years looking up increasingly more obscure flowers and their meanings.

This particular flower is called a four-o-clock flower, due to its tendency to start to bloom in the late afternoon and stay throughout the night, then close in the morning. 

It means ‘flame of love’.

It’s tiny, still just in the bud, but…

The tattoo shivers on Barry’s arm, shifting into a tiny little collection of hawthorn flowers.

_Hope_.

Barry smiles.

“- you wanna defeat this guy or sit around daydreaming?” Len snaps. “I need your input, oh scarlet speedster.”

“The suit’s hardly scarlet,” Barry objects.

“Who can tell, at the speeds you’re normally going after?” Len shoots back. “Actually, on that subject, Mick, I got you a thing.”

Mick’s ecstatic reaction over the heat gun is enough to make Barry “forget” to mention that they really ought to give it back to Cisco.

After all, they _did_ steal it fair and square…

And Mick is just so happy about it.

He’s beautiful when he’s happy.

Oh god, Barry has got it _so bad_.

(His tattoo putting out a sunflower, meaning adoration, is entirely unnecessary salt-in-the-wound.)

Len ends the meeting by presenting Barry with a pretty thorough plan to do some reconnaissance on Harrison Wells, both by Len and Mick from the outside and Barry from the inside.

Barry protests that his assignments, like “recommendation 1: search STAR Labs,” seemed pointless, except when asked he had to admit he had not, in fact, searched STAR Labs for any mysterious hidey-holes that could explain...anything. 

But surely Wells wouldn't be so stupid as to -

Len points out that if Barry hasn't checked, he doesn't know if Wells is or is not that stupid, and anyway it's pretty reasonable to assume Wells would think that Barry wouldn't have any reason to suspect him of being secretly evil.

Barry concedes the point.

Mick seems content to just ride along with all of the crazy – apparently being born and raised on a farm taught him a fair amount of superstition in addition to the flower language, though he claims the superstition has more to do with being Irish – but he does squint at Barry thoughtfully.

“…what?” Barry asks.

“You should come visit us once we’re settled,” Mick says. “You can come have dinner or something. Superspeed – probably means your stomach’s all sped up too, right? Whatever that’s called, metaphorism?”

“Metabolism,” Barry says automatically, doing his best to keep from swooning. 

Ridiculously attractive _and_ smart. So what if he doesn’t always know the right words? Barry can sympathize with that, and he’s got the advantage of an extensive education, something he thinks Mick and Len might not have had access to.

...Barry's totally doomed.

"Dinner," Mick says firmly. "You should come."

Barry agrees, of course - why wouldn't he? - but he honestly doesn't think it's going to, you know, happen or anything, except next thing he knows Mick is at his doorstep inviting him to dinner.

Well, more like gruffly reminding Barry that he'd promised to come for dinner and anyway Mick already cooked it and Len was expecting him in order to talk strategy so was he coming already?

Barry thinks it's sweet.

Best of all, Len does want to talk strategy, but he ends up getting a phone call about twenty minutes in and running out with instructions for them to keep some food for him. 

So Barry and Mick end up having dinner alone.

Mick isn't much for talking, but Barry coaxes some conversation out of him, finding that Mick is insightful, humorous (in a much dryer way than Len's ongoing sarcasm), and, in his own way, kind. 

Incredibly cynical about the world, of course: Mick resists making new friends because he cares so deeply for his friends, truly cares, and he constantly felt that he failed in protecting the ones he already had and therefore didn't deserve any new ones.

It didn't mean people couldn't sneak in despite his best efforts, though.

And he likes Barry.

That part is important.

He _likes_ Barry.

Not necessarily romantically, but, as Barry's tattoo constantly reminds him, there is the possibility of it, still hidden in the bud.

Barry wonders if his abilities mean that he'll one day be able to walk on air, because he certainly feels like he is doing that _now_.

Even his friends notice.

"Found someone new?" Caitlin teases. "Can we meet her?"

"If I find you anywhere near any of my dates, I will die," Barry informs her. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Way to go, Barry!"

"You're dating someone, Mr. Allen?" Wells asks, wheeling himself out from a shadow. "The esteemable Ms. West, perhaps?"

"No," Barry says firmly. "That's not - she doesn't - she's not - I'm dating someone new. And I think it might be going somewhere. I don't know. We'll see? It's still early days."

Wells made a thoughtful noise.

It wasn't, entirely, an approving noise.

Barry has no idea why Wells would care about who Barry is dating...unless Wells is creeping on Barry himself. Which, _gross_!

"Have you brought this new paramour of yours home yet, Mr. Allen?" Wells asks.

"Waaaay too early for that," Barry tells him.

"And I suppose a name is out of the question..?"

"Buzz off, all of you," Barry says. "Don't we have a meta to fight?"

They lay off, but the whole conversation makes Barry uncomfortable and he ends up confessing it all to Len, who looks thoughtful.

"What?" Barry asks, hoping Len could pinpoint the issue.

"I'm still not sure what he's up to," Len says, "that's still murky. But based on that conversation, I'd bet money that your house is bugged."

"My house is _what_?!"

Len shrugs. "I've cased a _lot_ of places," he says. "Including some private homes. If Wells sounded like anything, he sounded like an over-controlling husband or father. Not so much he wants you for himself; more that he expects you to do only what he expects from you and nothing else -"

"So, what, he _expects_ me to just pine away hopelessly for Iris permanently or something?"

"- and when you start showing signs of doing otherwise, he makes a plan to catch you at it," Len concludes. "Usually with supposedly subtle suggestions that you should feel free to use a given space to do as you like - with the given space being recorded."

"So that means -"

"He wants to know who you're interested in and his suggestion that you bring 'her' home is meant to help him figure that out," Len confirms. "Which only works if it's bugged."

"Oh my god," Barry moans, putting his head in his hands. He can check later today, but... "That's so creepy."

"You should find the bugs but leave them in place," Len says. "That way he won't know we're onto him."

Barry sighs, but nods.

"Now," Len says, "let's talk about you being interested in Mick..."

Barry gulps.

Luckily, it turns out Len is fine with it and just wants to give a shovel talk, since apparently his beloved little sister would kill him if he gave one to any of her boyfriends, girlfriends, or nonbinaryfriends. 

Best of all, Len finds increasing reasons to leave them alone after that, and the four-o-clock flower on Barry's arm begins, little by little, to bloom.

* * *

"Time travel," Len crows. "I _told_ you it was time travel."

"Stop rubbing it in," Barry grumbles.

"I've got a different question," Mick says. He's comfortable sprawled out on the couch, an arm hooked over Barry's shoulders, and Barry's doing his best not to either dislodge Mick's arm or do anything that might alert Mick to what he's doing. "When do you get the power to make magic tattoos? Also, when do I get one?"

"Clearly I decided not to give you one."

"Unfair," Mick whines. "I want one. They're damn useful."

Barry has to give him that. 

"You can just use Barry's," Len replies, rolling his eyes. "He's around often enough."

Barry glares at Len.

"True enough," Mick says. "I like having him around; he's very calming. Not like most people. Hey, Barry, would you be willing to hang out and be my people-interpreter?"

_Sure, can we do that forever?_ Barry thinks, but actually ends up saying, "Sure, just let me know when you need me."

"Oh, I don't have anything in _mind_ , I just meant, y'know, generally."

"Uh, sure. Definitely. Definitely sure." He smiles at Mick. "Any time."

"Which, now that we know Barry can travel through time, can literally be _any time_ ," Len interjects.

"It's not that easy," Barry objects.

"You just told us you did it by accident."

"...it's probably not a good idea, then."

"Why?"

"I'm never taking you back in time," Barry decides. "That way lies terrible paradoxes, and I don't want to think about what that'll do to the timeline."

"We'll all have magic tattoos," Mick offers.

"Or glowing eyes," Len agrees, grinning. “Besides, if _you_ won’t take me, I’ll find my own way.”

"Anyway, what does it matter that I can time travel?" Barry asks. "Besides it being cool and explaining how I meet Len before ever meeting him."

"Isn't it obvious?" Len asks.

"No. Not at all," Mick says peacefully, with the air of someone used to Len's - _Len-ness_. Barry grins conspiratorially at him and gets a wink in return. "Why don't you explain it to us the way you're obviously dying to?"

"It's Wells! The flower that didn't match! The one that means 'return', right?"

"There's a variety of meanings -"

"It means return," Len insists. "Return of the threat. And that explains everything."

Barry glances at Mick, but no, his face is equally blank with confusion. Good to know it's not just Barry.

Len rolls his eyes at both of them. "Barry," he says. "Scarlet. _Flash_. He who leaves behind lightning when he runs."

"...yes?"

"Now that you know that you can time travel," Len says, "I'd like you to give me a good reason that a _man trailing lightning_ might attack your home when you were a child."

Barry straightens up abruptly. "Hold up. Are you saying that _I_ was the one who killed -"

"Not _you_ ," Mick interrupts, putting a calming hand on Barry's arm. "But someone like you - a speedster in yellow instead of red."

"A supervillain," Len says, eyes aglow. "A supervillain that figures out he can travel through time - and decides to take the 'go kill baby Hitler' approach to time travel, with eleven-year-old Barry playing the role of Hitler. The hit on your mother was just that: a hit."

Barry swallows. "But that means - that means it _was_ my fault," he says. "Because I'm the Flash now -"

"Unlikely," Len says. "You became the Flash in a freak accident - an accident that happens whether or not your mother dies. The supervillain was probably trying to kill you and failed - yet he never tried again. That suggests that either his attempt was a one-shot thing or, more likely, that time reacted badly to the attempt to screw it up and fought back." He grins. "And that means you becoming the Flash is _destiny_."

"But if I stopped -"

"You're too good a person to stop helping people," Mick says gently. "I think Lenny's right on this one, Red. It ain't you that made the asshole do what he did, it's all on him."

Barry isn't sure he believes Mick, but he musters up a smile for him anyway. All this talk of being responsible for your family's death can't be good for Mick, after his history.

Mick smiles back and squeezes Barry's arm a little. Then he frowns and turns to Len. "What's this explain about the flower?"

"Isn't it obvious yet?" Len purrs, clearly delighted by his own brilliance. "Return of the threat: the man who tried to kill you _is_ Harrison Wells."

"What? No! He's the one who caused the Accelerator in the first place -"

"Destiny," Mick says abruptly. "Barry -"

Barry goes a bit warm. Mick almost never uses names; only when it's important. But Barry likes the sound of his name on Mick's lips.

"Barry," Mick says again, more urgently, "what if you were the inspiration for it?"

Len frowns. "How's that?"

"This man in yellow - he's a speedster right?"

"We're assuming, yes."

"And he's a supervillain we haven't seen yet, so what if Barry came first? What if this guy got inspired by Barry being the Flash, except when he fucked up Barry's childhood he robbed himself of his original inspiration to become a speedster - which means he wouldn't have his speed anymore. Or, at least, his ability to travel in time..."

Len snaps his fingers. "That's why he didn't try again! He realized he _needed_ Barry to become the Flash, and not just the Flash, to become an increasingly _faster_ version of the Flash - fast enough to time travel. That's why he made the Accelerator explode -"

"No, hold up," Barry says. "He has a whole career behind him! Thirty years!"

"Any weird personality changes around the time of your mom's death?"

Barry pauses. "I mean," he says hesitantly, "that is when he had the car accident where he lost his wife...and then moved to a new city..."

"Cutting off all communication with anyone who knew him before?" Len asks, arching his eyebrows. "If you're willing to murder the wife, then it's a good excuse."

"But - he's in a _wheelchair_ -"

"As a possibly-Aspie superhero, are you really in a position to object to the abilities of disabled people to cause trouble?"

"...point."

"Besides, we're assuming he isn't faking the wheelchair thing," Mick says. "We'll check the records at Wells' house - maybe we can catch him."

"Then what?"

"Then we prove it to your buddies at STAR Labs and we take him down," Len says, baring his teeth. "And we put the evidence of the Flash vs. the Evil Speedster -"

"That name sucks," Mick says. "Reverse Flash, maybe?"

"Whatever. We ask your friend Iris West to put the evidence of that into the news media, and prove that there's a man in yellow that runs like lightning, and we use that to get your dad's case reopened. Simple!"

It was not, as Len termed it, _simple_.

They all very nearly get killed multiple times in the process, for one thing. If it wasn't for Barry's tattoo semi-regularly pinching him with images of begonias, which mean "beware", they _would_ be dead - Len and Mick, at least, because apparently Len was right about Wells' evil plan needing Barry alive and well and super speedy, though apparently there was an undiscovered element of using Barry as a battery to turn the Particle Accelerator into a time-travel device to get Wells - Eobard? - back to his timeline.

But, whatever, eventually Len's plan does actually work.

Barry nearly dies trying to stop Eobard, but he doesn't, and anyway the near death experience had Mick running over and pulling Barry out of the time loop into a soul-searing kiss -

Len actually whoops at it, it's undignified.

\- so really, Barry's quite happy with how it all turns out.

Iris knows about him now, as does Eddie (they've decided, informally, to seriously consider adoption instead of procreation); Joe has been forced to admit that Len and Mick aren't half bad; Barry's dad is being released from prison and set up with a nice big settlement from the state; Cisco and Caitlin are firm friends who he can keep employing thanks to his inheritance of Wells' fortune; Barry and Mick are now officially dating while Len proceeds to keep them company and annoy the living daylight out of them...

Barry’s tattoo shows a four-o-clock flower in full bloom more often than not. 

Really, it's all good.

And then Rip Hunter has to show up and ruin it all.

* * *

Barry's never been more glad that he keep his own apartment instead of moving in with Joe that one time (he thought about it, but he kept thinking of cardamimes) than when Mick makes it back from his travels with the Legends, hollow-eyed and mute with grief, because he could insist that Mick stay with him for the time being.

Mick agrees, less out of actual desire than out of an apathetic passivity that doesn't suit him. He doesn't say what happened, but Len's absence from Mick's side is clear enough.

(Barry's tattoo encircles Mick's four-o-clock flower with a wreath of cypress leaves spotted with the flowers of aloe and bellwort, all meaning death, mourning, sorrow, hopelessness and grief, but for once Barry's pretty sure he could have guessed even without its guidance.)

Barry stays with Mick whenever he can, working from home and taking breaks at Flash-speed, offering his sympathy and his presence, which he hopes is comforting. They watch a lot of movies, light ones, comedies and action movies: ninja movies and Monty Python and action movies with lots of car chases. 

After a few weeks, late one night when Barry thought Mick'd fallen asleep on the couch, Mick whispers, "He died a hero."

That, somehow, is what finally breaks Barry from the overwhelming distraction of needing to care for Mick and reminds him that Len might've been Mick's best friend, but he was Barry's friend, too: eyes bright and avid whenever they spoke of magic, a pun always on his tongue, a brilliant mind capable of anything...

A softer heart than he'd ever admit.

Barry gets in a good cry that night, Mick's arms wrapped around him.

Over the next few days, the story comes in drips and drabs - a terrible story, of deception and manipulation and betrayal and torture. Mick's words, always a little confused from his childhood aphasia, have gotten even slower, even more difficult to summon the right word at the right time, and Barry knows exactly who to blame for that. 

There's nothing Barry can do about the Time Masters that hurt Mick, Len took care of that, but if Barry ever sees Rip Hunter again...

They’re curled up on the couch watching _Spaceballs_ when Mick finally speaks about the thing that’s really been bothering him.

"There's one thing," Mick says, looking ragged and wretched, yet strangely tremulous. Like he was afraid to say anything. "One last piece of hope that I can't stop thinking about. Can’t move on till I get it out of my head, but – I can’t let go."

Barry blinks at him. "What do you mean?"

"Your arm."

"My arm? You mean my tattoo? What about it?"

"You said you got it from - from a future version of Len, right? And - it's still there, ain't it? My Len - I mean, my version of Len, we didn't ever go back to year you said it happened."

Barry sighs, understanding. "It might not have been him," he says gently. "We've just discovered that alternate universes exist -" And oh, what a heartbreak all over again that Len won't be able to hear about that - Barry can already see in his head with perfect clarity how the excitement and glee of Len's carefully hidden inner nerd would be pouring out uncontrollably. "- so it didn't, you know, necessarily have to be a future version of him."

Mick breathes out hard, a burst of air like he'd been punched in the gut. Barry understands: that last bit of hope...

There's a knock on the door.

Barry makes to get up from the couch to answer it, but Mick's arms tighten around him, unwilling to let go. "They'll go away."

"Or start yelling," Barry agrees, thinking of his friends.

Another knock.

They both ignore it.

Silence for a few seconds, just long enough for Barry to think that maybe it was just some obnoxious door-to-door salesperson or something and that they'd gotten the hint and left, and then the audible click of the door opening.

Of their _locked door_ opening.

Barry and Mick stare at each other with the same expression - the "wow does this thief have bad luck today or what?" expression - and then they both get up to face the door just as the thief strolls in like he owns the place.

Mick inhales, hard and fast, and Barry's pretty sure he himself just made a sound not unlike being stabbed.

Leonard Snart, his eyes clouded over with a unnatural swirling living blue in just the unforgettable way that Barry remembers from getting his tattoo, grins at them both.

"Sorry I'm late," he drawls. "Didn't mean to leave you in suspense - just needed to pick up a little something on my way, if you know what I mean."

He jabs a thumb at - well, Barry's not entirely sure what it is. Len has some extremely large book, leather-bound and ancient-looking like some tome out of a comic book trying to recreate the feeling of the Middle Ages, or maybe, what does Barry know, something that actually _is_ from the Middle Ages, and it's currently strapped onto his back in some sort of weird backpack-like get up that enables him to carry it comfortably and hands-free despite the fact that he is literally _chained_ to the spine of the book.

What the fuck. 

"Are you our Len?" Mick demands, clearly less interested in the book or the eyes than in confirming that Len is somehow impossibly back. "Or are you some future Len?"

“I’m from now,” Len says with a grin.

“That’s just semantics,” Barry objects. “Everyone is from ‘now’.”

“That’s correct,” Len says. “You’re always in the now. Everything that happens now is happening now.”

Mick opens his mouth to say something, then scowls fiercely. “You fucking asshole.”

“Major Asshole,” Len agrees.

Barry frowns, not sure what they’re talking about, then the words “everything that happens now is happening now” blare out from the still-running movie behind them and he groans. “Please tell me,” he says, “that you didn’t wait until we were watching _Spaceballs_ so you could make bad movie quote jokes to accompany your reappearance. Or appearance. Whichever.”

Len’s grin softens into a real smile. “Maybe a little,” he concedes. “But it was the narratively appropriate moment for me to show up, so I couldn’t come any earlier. And in answer to your question, I am the Len you knew – yes, the one who just got involved in the Oculus –”

“Got involved?” Mick exclaims. “What sort of stupid-ass euphemism is that? You got _blown up_!”

“Fine. I’m the one who got blow up in the Oculus. I’m also the one who’s going to give Barry his tattoo when he’s younger. I’m all of them.”

Barry looks down at his tattoo.

It’s Len’s flower, the camellia.

Destiny.

“Do we want to know the details?” he asks.

“Not really,” Len says. “I’m only here for a short time, anyway.”

“I’m going with you,” Mick says firmly.

Barry’s breath catches in his throat. He missed Len, missed him dreadfully, but he doesn’t – he doesn’t want to lose Mick.

“No, you’re not,” Len says, equally firm. “You’re staying right here – or going on with the Legends, which ever you prefer – and you two are going to be very happy together.”

“I’m your _partner_.”

Len’s face softens. “Yes, you are,” he says. “But you’ve got your own path to walk now – and a new partner to do it with.”

He nods at Barry, who swallows. “I don’t want you to go either, if it’s worth anything?” he offers. His voice is a bit tremulous, and he knows his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. 

They just got Len back – they can’t handle losing him already.

“Oh, for – stop having emotions at me already,” Len says, sounding long-suffering. “Yes, I said this was a short visit and yes, Mick can’t come with me where I’m going, but you’re all acting like I’m not going to show up every few days like a bad penny to tell you all the new things I’ve discovered.”

Mick practically crumples with relief, and Barry’s not much better. 

Len rolls his eyes at both of them. 

“Anyway, I just showed up for the _Spaceballs_ quote and to make you all stop moping,” he says briskly. “I’ve still got some things to settle down before I can come back, but I swear, I will be back, and soon.”

“Good,” Mick says. “Last time...”

“Last time we were still under the Oculus’ sway; now we're not,” Len says, his eyes glinting with triumph. “Now we’re under _mine_ , and you’ll find I’m a lot more lenient about this sort of thing.”

“So you’re definitely coming back?” Barry presses.

“Absolutely. You’ve got a couple of interesting adventures coming down the pipeline and personally, I can’t wait to see how you’re going to deal with them. Any last questions before I go back to my garden?”

“Can I have a tattoo like Barry’s?” Mick says immediately.

“You don’t need one,” Len says. “You’ve got Barry.”

“Did you say ‘garden’?” Barry asks, because he’s known Len long enough by now to realize the immediate downfalls of that plan. “You? The city boy? A garden? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s traditional,” Len says with a sniff. “I’ll be fine.”

“...sure you will,” Mick says, sounding doubtful. “Well, if you ever need any advice, just ask.”

To no one’s surprise, Len comes back three days later with a vaguely panicked expression asking whether plants need to be watered or not and if so, how much. 

Barry and Mick laugh themselves sick.

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have noticed, I've picked "Len as Destiny of the Endless" as the connecting theme for this year's Flashwave week. The only things you really need to know for most of the fics is that Destiny is a blind hooded figure chained to a book, that he's the oldest of a group of immortal entities, and that he traditionally lives in the Garden of Destiny. 
> 
> Alternatively, you could just go with "Len develops Oculus powers that happen to come with a book and a garden" and you'll still have everything you need to understand this fic.


End file.
